Bring Me Back To You
by BritishShinshi
Summary: After experiencing hardships between him and the other countries, England decides to go on a vacation. A vacation in a secluded paradise where only magic can take him. However, his plan doesn't follow through completely and he finds himself jumping from different universe to different universe as he attempts to return to his original one.


**Hello! I haven't really planned a solid plot for this story lol. I just wanted to write a book where England gets transported to different universes and he doesn't know how to get back to his original universe. Oh, dear. What is wrong with me. I don't have anything else to say other than the fact that this book will have USUK of course. Not sure how frequent the updates will be since school has started, but I will try and write as much as I can. Enjoy!**

England hates everyone.

Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. _Hate_.

Was it possible to hate someone with a burning passion?

Maybe.

Hate was a strong word, but it was all England can feel at this moment.

It was a burning feeling in his chest, and it wanted to get out. A fire that was blazing inside of him; growing bigger and bigger until he could feel the flames tickling his throat, threatening to escape if the right button was pushed.

Where was the source of this hungry blaze?

Everyone.

Specifically?

Everyone.

Literally.

Everyone around him was feeding his blazing anger with fuel. Words in the form of fuel.

To explain it briefly, all the other countries hate him. And of course the logical thing to do was hate them back, but with a stronger passion.

In every world meeting, conference, assembly, you name it; England always ends up being the bad guy. He wasn't even doing anything to earn such hatred from the other nations. It seems like all of them are ganging up on him whenever they see the chance. It even happens when they're not face-to-face!

Sure, England was an empire that thirsted for power and land, but he's moved on from that. He may have been a blood thirsty empire in his youth, but he's faced his fall and accepted it. He enjoys the gentle things that life had given him; embroidery, gardening, reading, baking - England had declared himself a pacifist nation that no longer sought for complete control or authority.

But it seems the other countries don't see it the way he does.

England should ignore their petty talks and teasing; he was a nation who had a heart too! Of course their words hurt his feelings… though he'd never admit that out loud. His pride was as big as America's ego.

And speaking of America; the bloody yank seems to make it clear that his sole purpose in England's life was to make it more miserable. England was the one nation that raised him! How dare he disrespect his former mentor?!

America was unpredictable. He would appear in England's house uninvited, sometimes even piloting a private jet on his own if he had free time. He would crash the plane right on England's backyard, and then as if the American couldn't cause any more damage to his home, he would unceremoniously enter the house by crashing against a window - seriously, was he not aware of the existence of doors?

Once America announces his arrival, he would lounge inside England's living room, asking for food only to ridicule him of his cooking skills. Why would he even ask for food when he clearly hates it? Other than that, America would beg England to watch a horror marathon with him, and these nights usually resulted in America screaming against England's ears, crushing him under his arms, and forcing him to sleep in the same room with him because something might 'jump out of the closet and eat him'.

An idiot, America was. He was a superpower and this was the type of behavior he's displaying in front of England? A country that used to be a superpower like him?

America's intentions were utterly impossible to decipher. At least France explained why he was such an asshole towards England.

Ugh, he's had enough.

Enough of these bloody nations kicking him around like a football.

And what was his solution other than potentially starting a third world war?

Escaping.

It was a cowardly decision, but England's had enough.

Clearly no one liked him; no one was his friend, and no one wanted to be by his side.

Even his god forsaken brothers wouldn't dare bat an eyelash towards his direction.

Screw the other nations.

Screw being the personification of England.

Screw making friends with people who saw him as a punching bag.

Screw fucking everything!

He needed a vacation.

A _long_, relaxing vacation - away from civilization and certainly away from everyone else.

No work, no America, no France, nothing.

England wanted to throw himself in a secluded paradise that only he can enter. He wanted to be in a place where he can relax and not stress over his responsibilities as a nation. It was silly of him to do so, and very hypocritical of him. He deems himself as an individual that was married to his work; looking down at those who didn't take their duties seriously.

But _damn_ he needed a vacation. A one-week holiday free from mountains of paperwork and schedules for foreign affairs.

He needed a vacation, and he needed it _now_.

x

Everything was perfect.

England had read through all of his spell books and other textbooks relating to magic. He'd searched through them to find the needed spells to commence his plan. After days of hardwork and effort, he finally built the perfect spell that can send him in an alternate reality; one where he can simply wish for something, and it would appear in just a second.

It was similar to lucid dreaming, but this one would be a real experience.

England would have everything he wanted; a vacation, some peace and quiet, and he could see his fairy friends as often as he wants.

It was going to be perfect.

He had everything prepared: an empty room, chalk markings on the floor, his spellbook - all he needed to do was recite the words, and _boop_, paradise!

England was reciting the spell already, his eyes closed, his attention focused on his destination. It was at the halfway point where he could feel the wave of power flooding in his veins, sending his body upwards, hovering an inch from the ground.

He shivered a little as he recited the final words. The power was overwhelming. It shook every inch of him. It felt like an unknown force was eating him up, but he dared not to open his eyes. It would make him lose focus, and he didn't want to find out what would happen if he messes up the spell.

He knew better. Last time he was reciting a spell to summon a little girl's missing cat, he was interrupted, causing his spell to fall into jeopardy. The spell had affected him instead, turning him into a Scottish Fold for several days.

England wasn't fond of knowing what would happen if he messes up _this_ spell.

As England enumerates the remaining words, with each sending waves of power running down his body, he loses himself to the impending energy that was about to consume him.

However, he was so focused with his spell that his ears could not register the heavy footsteps thudding outside of the room.

England was on the second to the last word when suddenly, the door behind him crashed opened, revealing an overly enthusiastic American with a toothy grin.

"England!"

England's eyes shot open in surprise. His feet dropped to the floor, the spellbook in his hand plummeted down as well. He felt the powerful energy dissipating from his body. He thought that the built-up magic was going to disappear, but he was wrong.

He gasped sharply as something more powerful surged inside of him; an inexplicable force that pushed itself through his throat. He couldn't breath; his lungs were burning and his ears registered choking noises.

Was he dying? Was this the consequence he earned from being interrupted? Was he really going to die?

England couldn't think. He couldn't hear the worried shouting behind him, nor can he comprehend the burning feeling that was overtaking his body.

He feels himself fall on his back, body arching like a bow while he hears himself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

England's eyes were falling.

And the last thing he sees before everything twisted to darkness was a pair of blue orbs falling in front of him.


End file.
